Ina Garten Davita

Utilize this oil as a gentle daily spiritual and psychic cleanser, and as an aid for uncrossing and hex removal.

You’ll be squeaky clean in a snap!

This oil contains Moroccan rue essential oil (Ruta graveolens), frankincense essential oil (Boswellia serrata), peppermint essential oil (Mentha piperita), hyssop essential oil (Hyssopus officinalis), and ethically harvested and extracted Peruvian palo santo (Bursera graveolens).
 

This is one of the best batches of Abre Camino oil that I have made so far, and that’s saying a lot ‘cuz I’ve been making it for roughly twenty years. It was blessed and charged over one lunation under the auspices of Mercury, Hermes, and Tyche. This batch contains oils sacred to Mercury, Hermes, and Tyche, and was – of course –crafted with Eupatorium villosum. Each bottle contains a bit of abre camino pulp.
 

Black velvet oudh, indigo musk, smoked patchouli, golden myrrh, and tree moss. 

7-year aged patchouli and polished black cedar with midnight-black vegetal musk, fossilized amber, Spanish moss, and nagarmotha.

Everything you just did was totally normal, and your family’s not going to find out. Cover up a thousand nighttime sins with the veneer of perfect innocence: virginal cream soda, with extra cream.

Overgrown ivy creeping through a neglected lavender patch, a whiff of long-forgotten cologne, indigo oudh, mahogany,

and teakwood, ti leaf, ectoplasmic musk, and aged leather.

Beatific gardenia, virtuous lemon flower, and sacred frankincense clashing with infernal musk,

a burst of sulphur, and a little bit of hellfire.

A seventeenth-century tome, pages lined with witching herbs and lightly spattered by gunpowder residue.

Baby powder, goat’s milk, and a distant whiff of brimstone.

Clouds massing east of Eden: a rapidly darkening sky blasted by thundercrack of ozone, blast of cold, black rain, punctuated by a thin flicker of amber.

An effervescent blend of white musk, lemon peel, vanilla incense, and wild bergamot.

A homey, marginally-diabolical blend of armchair leather, chamomile tea, cashmere,

and a tangle of sweet 7-year aged patchouli.

Pipe tobacco, black tea, starched white cotton, and a very respectable aftershave.

Sauntering into perdition: leather and smoky musk, damask rose, incense, brimstone, and vetiver.

Blackened lavender, red labdanum, sweet hops, and violet leaf.

And Jehovah God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: the green rolling hills of the First Garden, a scattering of apple blossoms and apple pulp, a handful of pomegranate seeds, and a soft, serpentine hiss of poisonous green musk, opoponax, and frankincense.

A wrath for the ages: scorched aluminum and white-hot copper solder, cracked aluminosilicate glass, conflict-full tantalum, and the gingery-bubble of a short-circuiting vibration assembly stewing in a thick, hot black musk.

Black, red, and white pepper buzzing through a brimstone-suffused bloody clove musk.

Fossilized amber, dusty white sandalwood, galbanum, balsam of Peru, and brown oakmoss.

White sandalwood, blackcurrant, bourbon vanilla, and warm amber.

An ineffable smell: pitch-black vetiver with a strange, sheer patchouli, orange blossom, and fig leaf.

Fiery red amber and sweet oudh, flickers of honeyed patchouli and red musk, pale white coconut flecks,

and crushed peppercorn.

It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded: blood-red ink, fiery pomegranate, and black oudh.

Moss-green sugar spun lace dusted with mandrake root and sweet aged patchouli, dusty cedar, and crushed toadstools with a cauldron-splash of nightshade accord, tobacco flower, green cognac, and woodsmoke -
 

…plus a pinch of ethically-harvested, locally-sourced vegan eye of newt and toe of frog.

Loosed from the satin-pale corset, emerging from a gilded cage, that prison of silence: sweet bourbon vanilla,

pale sandalwood, mallow flower, osmanthus, and shards of frankincense.

They shut me up in Prose –
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet –
Because they liked me “still” –

Still! Could themself have peeped –
And seen my Brain – go round –
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason – in the Pound –

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Look down upon Captivity –
And laugh – No more have I –
– Emily Dickinson